


Seasons of Her Life

by Sleepless_Malice



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (yes - Moryo is older but does not physically age in the way Haleth does), Aging, Bittersweet, F/M, Goodbyes, Mild Sexual Content, Older Woman/Younger Man, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: For decades Haleth thinks she'll never see Caranthir again. Until he stands in front of her door one day.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë/Haleth of the Haladin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74





	Seasons of Her Life

**Author's Note:**

> 🎉 So this fic includes my 1000k word of fanfiction 🎉  
> And it’s the very reason why I wrote it: I wanted this fic to be in Tolkien fandom; in my main fandom, in the fandom I’m in for over twenty years (with interruptions) and for which I write for six years already. Especially as a beginner I have received so much encouragement from the fandom, and am still receiving it in various forms <3 Hence, this is sort of a small thank you for the fandom, and to everyone who read my stories, subscribed, left kudos & comments  
> And since we all are not getting any younger: the idea for this fic was born.

**Seasons of Her Life**

* * *

_Rebellious bird_ – that is what Haleth’s father had called her at the age of five.

That nickname has stuck with her ever since; she doesn’t mind, for it’s true. She’s wilder, more feral, and possessive than any other girl her age, coming home bruised and bloody often enough.

She has never grown out of it, really.

The first man she lays with in her teenage years calls her a wildfire, one that devours and fuels his soul; that makes his blood surge and simmer. The relationship goes on for a year before he tries to cage her into marriage. When understanding settles, she breaks all ties with him.

The years come and go and Haleth grows into a woman, equally proud and fierce, a leader, and although many admire her, some men, burning with jealousy do not. 

When assaulted by two of them, Haleth turns and runs. She has rolled under swinging blades before, has leaped over soldiers and far worse, has fought so many battles that she’s lost count, but never before has she been assaulted personally. Even when she’s certain she is finally alone she doesn’t stop running, afraid to hear the breathy roars of the men again.

Ever since that day, she has become wary in the presence of men.

Caranthir is no exception, quite the contrary for he is a lord, an Elf.

And yet: she falls for his awkward charms in a way that the Haleth of a couple of years ago would have laughed at herself.

She doesn’t ask Caranthir to stay.

He doesn’t ask her to leave.

They don’t even consider asking, knowing the answer of the other well enough.

Regardless, they allow their minds the foolery of the what if’s, when their heated skin was finally cooling down.

_“Tell me,” she says. “What are your plans?”_

_“Plans?” He answers, letting his fingertips trail across her toned arms._

_“Yes.”_

_“To grow old with you,” he says, smiling. “Together.”_

_“You aren’t aging.”_

_Caranthir nods at that. “I would – with you,” and whenever he says so, it warms her heart._

* * *

Caranthir’s scent has started to fade away from her pillow soon after he has left, and yet, whenever Haleth closes her eyes and inhales deeply, she still smells it as if it was only yesterday.

Sometimes, she wonders if Caranthir ever feels the same.

In her late fifties, Haleth finally settles down.

The cottage is built for one, there are only two rooms – one for living with a fire burning to keep her warm, the other for sleeping with just a small bed in it. Why waste so much space on rooms she’d never use? Most of the day she is outside anyway, tending to her garden or collecting herbs in the nearby forest. She is still happiest below the open sky. Despite her age, and the offers from neighbors to help she’s been receiving for years now, she still chops the firewood herself, glad that she still can.

The years have left their mark on her. Whilst at the beginning she had scowled at the first grey hairs and plucked them out, she’s long given up doing it and has come to terms with her wrinkles too.

The winters are harsh in these lands with much snow and even longer periods of frost. Sometimes, when she’s freezing despite the burning fire she dreams of how Caranthir, curled up around her and hand pressed against her stomach, had chased away all chills. It is on nights like these the massive scar on her stomach hurts most, its pain having intensified gradually over the years.

And it’s on nights like these, that the past comes back to her. Although she would never admit it, the truth is she misses Caranthir. Despite her age and despite her pride, and despite all the years she still misses him.

Haleth has never taken a lover after Caranthir as if doing so would break the memory she holds of him. It is idiotic, she knows. For nothing would ever be able to disrupt the images of their shared nights, filled with laughter and passion both in front of the fire, with rain hammering against the fabric of the tent.

_I could have served him till I die._

All her life she has served no other than her own.

And yet she allows her mind the liberty to imagine all the what-ifs.

Often, she sits in her garden and watches the sun set in the autumn of her life, allowing her mind the liberty to imagine all the what-if’s

* * *

The knock on Haleth’s door comes as a surprise.

It’s almost dinner time and she doesn’t expect any visitors. Nevertheless, she removes the cat from her lap and rises from the chair by the fire to open the door.

“Who–” she’s about to ask, but then, as her gaze lands on the man before her the words fade into the frosty air.

_Caranthir._

She’s rendered speechless – and so is he.

Helm held under his arm, Caranthir is staring at her, then down on the ground. He’s soaking wet, drenched, with strands of black hair clinging to his face.

Haleth exhales one more time, her breath visible in the cold air.

“My lady,” he finally says, taking a step forward.

The sound of his voice is unchanged, as is his appearance. Caranthir has not aged a day. He looks exactly like the man she remembers; with whom she had lain despite all warnings she has received as a young girl.

Just as almost thirty years ago, she immediately corrects him, perhaps a little harsher than she had wanted to, “Haleth, Caranthir. It’s still Haleth, and not my lady or any other variation of that.”

Haleth hadn’t even considered seeing him ever again. And now, being presented with him in person, she fails to grasp the meaning of it. Their lives are light day and night, always have been and still are.

“Of course,” he says, scratching the back of his head, just in the way he always does when he’s nervous.

Haleth finds it oddly charming and just like back then, whenever words fail him, Caranthir lets actions speak.

The embrace she’s caught in a second later is all but crushing, and after she recovers from the initial shock she buries her face against his chest and feels her heartbeat return to normal in his arms just like it had been so very often in the past

“Won’t you come in?” she laughs the moment he lets go of her. “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

As if to make a point she steps out of the way, making space for him to enter the house, and with a curt nod and a rare smile, he follows her inside.

Haleth is no dreamer; and yet she has allowed herself to dream every once in a while that one day, Caranthir might return to her out of nowhere. Perhaps, she should be content that indeed he is standing there now; just accept things as they are – which in fact is something she has never managed to so that the following question is just the logical consequence. 

“Why have you come?” she asks, the moment she closes the door behind them.

“My la- Haleth, I – “ he says, then pauses, looking down at his feet, certainly searching for words. In all the decades he hasn’t gotten rid of that habit. Then, looking back up, he tells her, “I … I just wanted to see you one last time.”

Warmth wraps around her like a thick blanket at his words that are so genuine and oddly charming. “To lay your eyes upon an old lady?” she asks with a laugh.

“Don’t say something like that,” he protests, taking her hands between his own. “I don’t want to hear it for you are as beautiful as you’ve been thirty years ago.”

Haleth snorts. “Spare yourself the flattery,” she snaps.

“It’s true,” he says, bringing her wrinkled hands to his lips to kiss them.

Haleth stares at him. She’s not sure how she’s feeling. And, even if she was, she’s not certain how to articulate it.

Sensing her mental struggle, Caranthir lets go of both her hands and gaze. He unbuckles his breastplate and tosses it to the side, next to his helmet.

Haleth has collected herself. “Come in now, will you?” she demands as they are still standing in the doorway. “Fully inside, I mean. You must be equally cold as you are wet, and the fire is nicely burning.”

She smiles as memories wash over her the moment they sit down in front of the fire.

They’d watched the play of the flames for hours years back while outside a storm had raged on for days. Just like then, rain clashes against the windows now.

Caranthir has many tales to tell, and so does Haleth; they laugh and sigh and laugh again as if the routine they had established was never broken.

“You know …,” Haleth says at some point, reaching for the glass of ale. “The oldness. I don’t feel old, not really, especially not here.” She taps at her head, smiling at him. “But my body is playing tricks on me, as if at some point it decided to turn against me.”

“You are beautiful … as ever,” he says, eyes grown dark.

The comment takes her aback. She’s never even thought that he – anyone – could still find her beautiful in that specific way.

“Don’t mock me,” she snaps, knowing that he is not.

Caranthir’s face softens with tenderness. It’s such a difference from his usually fierce demeanor. “I’m not and you know that, Haleth. It’s how I see you,” he insists, pointing towards his eyes, then towards his heart, and Haleth feels her cheeks grow hot. “How I perceive you. Beauty comes in various forms, and to me, you’re still as beautiful as the day I first laid my eyes upon you.”

Haleth attempts to speak, fails, and again, Caranthir saves her the answer, leaning closer to her. “Even if you do not want to see the truth in my words, it’s nothing else but that.”

She listens, closing her eyes and nods. It’s hard to imagine that he still finds her with all her wrinkles still beautiful, attractive even; it’s hard to accept, too, but at the same time it has her close to tears.

Caranthir rises, extending his hand towards her.

Like this, standing before her she’s acutely aware that in his eyes she’s an old woman and it pains her although he remains indifferent to her physical change or at least pretends to be.

Despite her doubts she accepts and steps into him, her eyes meeting his unwaveringly. And then Caranthir lets go of her hand and takes hold of her face and presses his mouth to hers, ever so carefully as if asking for her consent in silence.

Haleth gives it, with lips and hands, and all her heart, shivering as his fingers ghost along her neck. And from there things just go; before she realizes they lie on the fur in front of the fire, their arms and legs tangled like teenagers making out for the first time. Just like her body, Caranthir’s is covered in scars, far more than she remembered he had.

For a long while they lie silently beside each other, both breathing hard; Haleth heart thunders and a sudden wave of emotions washes over, all the more as Caranthir whispers into her ear, “Thank you, Haleth. For everything.”

* * *

When she wakes up in the morning in her bed, Caranthir is not there.

Even if she doubts it for he just wouldn’t simply leave she has a moment of blinding terror. As hard as saying goodbye is, saying nothing at all is harder still. She puts on her dressing gown and walks into the living room, where the door to the garden stands wide ajar. Her gaze lands on Caranthir, clad in nothing more than his leather breeches, busying himself with watering her herbs and vegetables.

Haleth feels like a fool, but seeing him like this warms her heart. And yet: melancholy wraps its fingers around her throat, whispering all those what-ifs into her ears; everything she only ever dared to dream of. 

Hands twined, they watch the sun set in the garden. No sunset is the same, and some are more memorable than others.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for grundy for the beta


End file.
